


When The Mask Comes Off

by DarlingFoe



Series: The Hunt [1]
Category: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Gen, Spoilers if you haven't finished Vengeful, Sydney cares, Victor Vale is dying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24955627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingFoe/pseuds/DarlingFoe
Summary: I decided to upload this on the off-chance that I eventually turn it into a series of segments/scenarios! I was provided a prompt of "I hope it hurts when you think of me" for Eli & Victor, and this is what the product wound up being! I had fun running with it - and while the phrase isn't used for dialogue, it fits the overall theme. PLEASE do NOT read this if you haven't finished VENGEFUL.I put Eli in the character tag, though he's really only mentioned. But I imagine more people will arrive on scene if I continue as mentioned! Hope you like it if you decide to read! Also...clicked the warning about major character death but like...does that still apply if they're still alive...? Hmmm.... Well, have fun reading!
Series: The Hunt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806211
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	When The Mask Comes Off

Victor Vale was _dying_. He rises sluggishly to his feet, every part of his body groaning in protest. He pulls the mouth-guard from between his lips, slipping it into a case and snapping it shut with finality. A message alights the screen of his phone with a time. _The time for how long he had been dead._ When he pockets the device his fingers brush a crumpled piece of paper. He pulls it from his coat and begins the process of opening it back up. 

Every word on the torn piece of newspaper had been blacked out with a sharpie. Every. Single. One. Except for those however, that instead of his usual numbing mantra of ‘ ** _FIX ME_** ’ - spelled out ‘ ** _FIND HIM_**.’ Victor drops the paper, stepping on it as he leaves it behind. It wasn’t the first one he’d made. It wouldn’t be the last. He felt pain and fury both coursing beneath his veins and took a deep breath, turning that invisible dial down, down, down. Until he felt nothing.

 _It was Eli’s fault._ It was Eli’s fault that the madness had started as a joke - at least to Victor in any case. It was nothing more than an experiment; Eli’s opportunity to play God and hope that he could provide actual, scientific proof for his thesis. His fault for interrupting Victor’s own attempts to obtain exactly what Eli had somehow, miraculously managed to do; his fault that he died, came back to life, and Angie didn’t. It was Eli’s fault he had wound up in prison, Eli’s fault that Sydney was the way she is now and that she blames herself for what’s wrong with Victor. The core source of every little thing that was violently _WRONG_ , was linked to Eli Cardale or Eli Ever, Merit’s masked hero; his former roommate, classmate, and even friend - who believed his God had _CHOSEN_ him and given him divinity. And every time Victor felt the rising buzz scratching at his nerves and throbbing in the back of his skull, it was Eli’s image that flashed before him. Victor had mastered the finer parts of the _thing_ inside of him, could take away his own pain until he felt absolutely nothing, could even take it from others. But the pain and confliction he felt whenever he thought of Eli, whenever he saw his face in a photograph, that couldn’t be snuffed out. And Victor had learned to cling to it, to master that too, to use that pain as a power of its own. 

**_FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM._ **

**_FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM._ **

When Victor returned to their hotel, he promptly poured himself a drink. He shakes the small, cheap bottle at the notice of how his fairs were dwindling. He hadn’t heard her approach, but it was Sydney’s voice that broke the silence. 

“…How long?,” she asks with a tremor in her voice. Victor sets the bottle aside. He abandons his drink and turns to meet her gaze. Victor bends just enough to hold it and ruffle her hair.

“What color do you want next?” She already had pink, blue, and even a pastel green wig stashed away. Sydney changed colors each day, sometimes twice a day. It was her way of separating herself from Serena - that much he knew. But it also seemed to give her a comfort that couldn’t be achieved; it was a change, a difference. Unlike most kids, Sydney Clarke didn’t grow. Not at an average rate, at least. 

“You’re avoiding the question.” Sydney shoves his hand away, frowning at him. Victor lets her and rises to take up his drink again. “Is it getting worse?” But she didn’t need an answer; she knew it was. Victor’s own silence would be proof of that. 

“Yes,” he replies. He downs his scotch in one go, the glass making a soft thud on the counter as he sets it down. “But I’ve got a lead, Syd. Don’t worry about it.”

Sydney watches him and Victor smiles back at her - a halfhearted thing. Sydney turns away from him, swiping a cookie from a plate nearby, mumbling something she thought he wouldn’t hear. _I’m not a kid, I don’t know why you always have to lie._ He clenches his jaw, wishing another drink were in his hand. But Victor only sheds his coat, abandoning it on one of the kitchen chairs. He could hear the quiet hum of voices from the television, and Mitch’s soft snores. He heard the click of Sydney’s door and the thump of Dol somewhere in the room with her. 

Victor runs a hand through his hair and soundlessly moves to his own room. He kicks his shoes off and drops onto the small bed while exhaustion makes a home out of his bones. There’s a soft, barely noticeable hum in the back of his head - a flickering in his nerves. The episodes were getting too close together; he was running out of time. 

**_FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM._ **

**_FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM. FIND HIM._ **

His head hurt; his limbs ached; his heart slammed in the cage of his chest. If it wasn’t the sheer fact that Eli had made off free of all his crimes and painted Victor as a villain - _a role he took up with pride despite having little say in it_ \- if it weren’t for the sheer amount of _betrayal_ and _rage_ he felt in his blood, Victor could give it all up. Victor would be able to live with the fact that he was dying and let it happen. _But he wanted to make Eli suffer_ ; he wanted to see it, to see _him_. And that alone made his heart race, brought a restlessness to his limbs. But Victor closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. 

_Soon_ , he promised, and let sleep and memories drag him down into the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Well - there it is, there it went. At first I never intended to touch this piece again - but the more I looked at it, the most I read it, I really think I could have fun with it! Just in bursts though, nothing too serious or long.


End file.
